


For Those We Leave Behind

by polytene



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-06
Updated: 2010-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-12 11:26:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polytene/pseuds/polytene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after the Blight, a mage goes looking for the Grey Wardens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Those We Leave Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Girl Saves Boy ficathon](http://community.livejournal.com/girlsavesboyfic/).

He was fifteen the first time he escaped from the tower. He got as far as the water's edge before the Templars caught up with him and dragged him back. Greagoir frowned, but First Enchanter Laurent was almost amused by his pitiful attempt at an escape; he sighed and declared that mages all over Thedas were all the same, and made him scrub the floor of the apprentice's dormitory until it shone.

When he was seventeen he had a plan, and supplies, and a friendly trader to smuggle him across the lake. He almost made it to Amaranthine before they found him, and he cursed them all the way back to the Circle. Cullen was Warden-Commander by then, and he looked at his record and confined him to a cell for a month. The trader was never seen at the Tower again.

When he was twenty he escaped for the last time.

~*~

He almost didn't recognise her. She was shorter than he remembered, her hair falling in a thick brown braid down her back, and her robes were of some stylish make he'd never seen before. He might not have given her a second glance, absorbed as he was in his own thoughts and the strange itchy uncomfortableness of wearing trousers, if she hadn't been talking to her companions as she walked past.

He remembered her voice. He couldn't remember much about that summer, but he remembered waking, hazy with sleep, to find an unfamiliar face at his bedside, and when the pretty lady smiled and asked how he was feeling he smiled back. It was hours later when his uncle found him, his face pale and tired, and told him that his mother was gone.

They take rooms at the inn, and he pretends not to watch as they drink and play cards, until she yawns and stretches and bids her friends goodnight. His hands tremble as he follows her, hears the soft click as she shuts but doesn't lock the door, and he pauses at the threshold to gather his tangled emotions before he enters as silently as he can.

She is perched on the end of her bed. "Hello, Connor," she says, calmly.

He fights to keep control of the fireballs in his hands. He's played out every way this can go in his head for ten years, but she's never been _expecting_ him.

"Neria."

"It's Warden-Commander Neria, actually. Not that it matters." She's still sitting on the bed, like this is a pleasant conversation and he's not about to set her on fire. "You didn't escape from the tower and head to my arling on a whim, now, did you. What do you want?"

"I want to know why." His voice doesn't betray him until the last word, and he chokes it out past the lump in his throat.

"Why?"

"Why you _killed her_." The flames are growing, reaching towards the ceiling. "They still talk about you, in the tower. They call you the Hero of Ferelden. You killed my mother, used her blood for your unholy magic. What sort of a hero are you? You killed my mother!"

Neria's hands move quickly, summoning a tempest which chills the room and extinguishes the flames in Connor's hands before he can even react. She stands in front of him, half a head shorter, but he shrinks from the steel in her eyes.

"I had two choices, Connor. I could let your mother die for a chance to save you, or I could kill you in front of her. What would you have done? I was no older than you are now, fighting for my life every day. They all looked to me to solve their problems, to make everything right." She seems to stare through him, as though she's arguing with someone else, years of bitterness in her voice. "And sometimes you can't save everyone. That's what sort of hero I am. I'm the hero who made the choices no one else wanted to make." She meets his gaze and something in her eyes softens, and the winds die down around them. "I'm sorry, Connor. If there had been any other way, any other path ... but I wouldn't kill a child. And if I had to make that choice again, I'd do the same."

He nods. "I think I understand."

"I hope you never really understand. But thank you, anyway." She sighs, and almost smiles. "You can come in now, boys," she calls through the door.

The tall, dark-haired man eyes him suspiciously as he enters the room, but his friend smiles broadly and shakes his hand.

"So, how did you do it? Secret passages? Squeezing out that little window in the basement? Swimming across the lake?"

"I- I stole a Templar's armour. Walked past the guards. Well, this time anyway."

"This time? You mean you've escaped more than once?" He offers his hand, and Connor shakes it, bemused. "I escaped six times. We should form a club."

"Honestly, Anders," sighs Neria, an expression of long-suffering patience on her face, and Anders shuts up. "What will you do now, Connor?"

"You're not sending for the Templars?" he asks.

"There's no love lost between me and the Chantry. I'm not inclined to make their job any easier for them."

He's spent so long dwelling on this moment, he never thought of a future beyond it. "I don't know. I don't think I want to go back to the Circle," he says, thinking of Cullen's grim face last time he escaped.

"There is another option. You escaped the tower and made it all the way to Amaranthine, and you came pretty close to ambushing me in my sleep. If only you were a little less obvious down in the tavern, you might have managed it."

The dark-haired man scoffs. "I've never met a mage who could sneak up on anyone."

"Hey, when you can shoot lightning out of your hands, being all tall dark and stealthy isn't so important," Anders retorts.

"My _point_ , gentlemen, is that Connor is a resourceful young man who seems determined to get on the wrong side of the Templars, and if he's as good with the other schools of magic as he is at making fireballs, he would make a fine addition to our ranks. If that's what he would like." He thinks she must be joking, but she looks deadly serious.

"But I tried to kill you," he points out.

She shrugs. "So did Nathaniel," she says, and the dark-haired man looks a little embarrassed. "I got over it."

His head is spinning. Become a Grey Warden? An hour ago she was everything he hated, but now he;s looked her in the eye and he's not the only one who still hurts, ten years on. He thinks of a young Warden who took command when no one else would, and the decisions she had to make.

"Maybe one day. But right now, I think ... I'm not ready to be a Grey Warden just yet."

She nods. "It's your choice, of course. And the offer will stand, if you ever grow tired of being an apostate."

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," says Anders, "but sometimes, they send the lady Templars to catch you? And there's fun to be had with those manacles."

" _Anders_ ," says Neria, less patiently. Anders raises his hands in submission, and she thrusts her pack into them. "See if you can be useful and take this back to your room. Connor can take my room for tonight. I think we have some talking to do before I send him on his way."

The other Wardens depart, Anders grumbling until she threatens to make him share with Nathaniel, and Neria settles in an armchair while he sits on the bed, still a little wary.

"Let me tell you a story about your father," she says.

~*~

Two years later, when a mud-covered young man comes rushing through the gates of Vigil's Keep, a band of Templars hard on his heels, the Warden-Commander smiles and doesn't look surprised at all.


End file.
